


Shopping Carts

by nohbodyknows



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attacks, sorry jer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohbodyknows/pseuds/nohbodyknows
Summary: Panic attacks: 5% better with someone else





	Shopping Carts

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt proofread this oopsie daisy

The large industrial fan greeted us with a hair-ruining blast of cool air as me and Michael walk into the Walmart. It’s a dumb thing to look forward to, but I love our weekly trips to go shopping and grab groceries. Although, I guess it's not really groceries if it's just ramen noodles and mac and cheese. 

 

Michael pushes the cart while I start tossing things in. As we walk in the snack aisle I start bouncing a little when I see a box on the bottom shelf. “Oh look! They have those scooby-doo fruit snacks, remember those! We have to get them!”

 

Michael leans his crossed against the cart and laughs. “You can read my mind babe. Throw ‘em in.”

 

But as I’m placing the box in the cart, my wrist brushes against the metal. Barely touching, barely a second, but I felt it. A shock from the cart. It’s stupid, I know. It was just static electricity from a shopping cart, it happens all the time, and hurts for less than a second. But I freeze. That tiny thing becomes one big memory that takes me away from the store, away from Michael, and I am on the floor in my bedroom again, seizing from shock after shock.

 

_ When will you learn Jeremy. Nothing about you before was good. You are terrible, and will always be terrible unless you listen to me.  _

 

_ Jeremy… _

 

“Jeremy! Come on, come back, you’re okay dude.” I didn’t realize I was on the floor until I felt Michael trying to pick me up. I could feel the tears on my face and my breath, as well as my whole body, was trembling. I look around.  _ They're all judging you, making fun of you for freaking out in the middle of the store. What a freak.  _

 

I clench my eyes shut. I can't stand looking at them anymore. Michael places a warm hand on my cheek and lifts my head up. He's kneeling down right beside me. He doesn't care that I just broke down in the snack aisle of Walmart. He just cares about me. I grab his hand and ground myself. I'm in the store with Michael. I'm not in my room with the squip. Breathe. 

 

His voice is soft and quiet, “Do you wanna go home?” 

 

I don't want to. I want to keep shopping and just finish getting food for the week and I just want to be  _ okay _ . But I'm not. I'm on the verge of tears and someone so much as looking at me would be enough to crush me. So I nod my head and let him pull me off the ground. 

 

I close my eyes, both to keep tears from falling and to avoid the glares of everyone around me. I can feel them looking at me though. Their stares bore holes in my skin, leaving me raw and exposed. I rub at my arms and try to make the nasty feeling go away but it stays. 

 

I flinch when I feel an arm around my shoulders then slowly melt into that familiar touch. Michael leads me away from the cart, away from the people, to his car in the lot. 

 

I slip into my seat and watch Michael put a cassette into the car’s tape deck. Soon calming music fills the space around me. I recognize the songs from the mixtape he made specifically for times like this. Times when I needed to slip out of my own mind and just ride on the blissful tunes and focus on the calm harmonies. I'm so lost in the haven of music that I don't notice we’re at our apartment already. 

 

It's times like this I curse our top floor apartment. Sure it was $50 cheaper than the bottom floor, but those stairs were an unformidable enemy that stood between me and our room. It's just stairs. This shouldn't be hard. I can't even make myself move my foot.  _ Pathetic.  _

 

“C’mon, Jer-Bear, you got this. And if you don't, I'll carry you.” He puts his arm around me once again and the voices dispel. 

 

I nod, still staring at the first step. “I got this.” And I do. Until the third floor. I'm shaky and exhausted and can't move anymore. Michael sweeps me up immediately and carries me up the steps. I'm too tired to care. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. He smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Like home. He somehow manages to unlock and open the door without jostling me around too much. 

 

“Hey Lover Boys,” Even with my face hidden I can hear the unmistakable lisp of Rich. It's gotten better since junior year, but there will always be that lingering slur. “Where's the food guys?”

 

And I'm suddenly struck by a wave of guilt. We left the groceries there. Because of me. We didn't get food for the week cause I was too weak and couldn't pull myself together enough to- I bite and and clench the fabric of Michael's sweater to keep myself from sobbing out loud. 

 

“I'll get food later. Keep it quiet, okay?” Michael’s voice, so calming yet strong and sure and sound. It made me feel safe and warm. Like the pile of blankets and pillows he lays me down on. He lays a heavy quilt on me before going into the corner of the room. “Which one do you want?” He is referencing the many, many plushies I have piled up in the corner of our shared room. It’s a collection that started when I was five and hasn't stopped since. 

 

“Mr. Whiskers.” I nuzzle myself into the nest-like pile of fluff and watch as Michael brings over an old dingy white cat. It was one that I stole from his house when I was six. I thought his moms would be mad, so I hid it for years. Turns out they knew the whole time and just didn't care. Michael takes off his hoodie and slips into the quilt next to me, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulders. I love laying like this, face to face with arms around each other. He wipes away a tear I didn't know I shed. 

 

“Is this a ‘talk about it’ thing or a ‘silent cuddle’ thing?” 

 

I don't wanna think about it, let alone talk about it, but I keep replaying everything over and over again in my head. It's not even a specific thing. It's everything at once and it's so overwhelming I just wanna escape. 

 

“C-” I stop, continuing only when I'm certain I won't cry as I speak. “Can you just t-talk? Please?”

 

He puts his hand on my cheek again and nods. “Sure. You know you're amazing, right? The best thing that's ever happened to me.”

 

I close my eyes and try to shove down all the thoughts denying his words. It's so hard when they're so loud.  _ You're nothing. You're lucky he’s even putting up with this.  _

 

His thumb rubs circles on my cheek. “No, get out of your head. You're okay. Open your eyes and look at me.”

 

I do as he says, wincing at the tears as they fall. 

 

“I want you to repeat after me, m’kay?” His hand moves from my cheek to my hair as he softly brushes through the tangles in my hair. 

 

I nod. This was another thing Michael did to help calm me down. The first breakdown I had told Michael everything about how the squip made me reappear horrible things about myself, so he took me in front of the mirror bathroom and made me repeat all the good things about myself. It was hard looking at my reflection. The last time I'd looked in front of a mirror was when it made me point out all the flaws in myself. But with Michael I felt more comfortable, more confident. 

 

“Everything about is wonderful.”

 

_ Everything about you is terrible.  _

 

I sob out, “Every - _ hic-  _ everything a-about me is- is wonderful.”

 

His hand trails to the back of my neck, kneading at the spot where he knows my headaches come from. “Ssshhh it's okay. One more, can you do that?”

 

I sniffle and nod. 

 

He hums. “Good. You're good. You are loved, and you are so important, and so so strong. So strong.”

 

_ All your friends are lying to you out of pity. They pity you because you are weak.  _

 

The voice is in my head. It's all in my head. Pressing my hands hard against my ears will do nothing to quiet it. So I shout instead. “I-I’m not weak. I'm strong. A-and my friends  _ do _ love me.” My voice gets shaky and quiet. “You love me, Mikey.”

 

I feel bad for a moment, cause it looks like he's gonna cry. But he instead pulls me closer to his chest. “I love you, Jeremy. I love you so much. Don't you ever forget that.”

 

And the voices are quiet. 

 

Laying there in Michael’s arms, my breathing steadied. My mind cleared. And even though it was 3 in the afternoon, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.  


End file.
